Gunshot
by Jiminy The Cricket
Summary: During yet another pointless quest, preceedings take a dark turn. Nostalgia Critic!whump (sorry, Doug)
1. Chapter 1

**I noticed a severe lack of Critic!Whump in this Fanfiction section, so I decided to write one. **

**(I also apologise to Doug if you ever run into this, this probably looks a little weird but I just like whump... sorry...)**

* * *

None of them really knew what the hell had got them in this situation, but there they were, The Nostalgia Critic, The Nostalgia Chick, Paw, Spoony, Angry Joe, Linkara and Brentalfloss stood in the now all to familiar field in the middle of the generic suburbia, having somehow being talked into chasing after _another _pointless treasure; however, this time it wasn't malikite or Turl and Zod they were facing now. They stood, sizing up to the hitherto faceless man who they had finally cornered after days of chasing him round countless landscapes.

"Alright, this ends now!" Critic shouted to him.

"You don't know how right you are…" The man sneered, spinning round. The Chick saw him removing something from his back pocket.

"Critic!" Chick yelled in warning.

Too late.  
A gunshot rang out through the air. The atmosphere trembled.  
Critic paused. He felt unnaturally numb, but only when he looked down did he realise why.  
A large bullet hole had drilled into his chest, blood beginning to splutter and pour out onto his t-shirt and jacket, the growing crimson pool contrasting harshly against the white of his t-shirt.  
He opened his mouth but the words got lodged in his throat. The numbness suddenly sparked into a sudden, agonising pain and his legs gave way, sending him crumbling to the floor.

Linkara jumped the man, Spoony and Angry Joe helping to wrestle the gun out of his hand and pin him to the floor. Joe pulled out his gun and aimed it at the man's head  
"Stay where you are, you bastard." He snarled, then turned to where Chick, Paw and Brentalfloss were, sitting round the Critic, Paw using his jacket to put pressure onto the sizeable bulletwound.  
"Is he..." Joe asked  
"He's breathing, but someone needs to get an ambulance over here right now." Paw told him. On that cue, Brent pulled out his mobile and began to dial 911.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**(Again, sorry Doug...)**


	2. Chapter 2

Barely a few minutes passed before the sound of sirens broke through the air, and then only a minute more before the ambulance drew up, followed by two police cars.  
As the man was bundled into the police car, a pair of handcuffs keeping him subdued and away from the others, the group watched as the Critic was loaded hurriedly onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. Paw and Brent were allowed to go with him in ambulance, as Brent had been the one to call the ambulance and Paw had been holding the blood in, while the others had to remain behind and hand in witness statements to the policemen and Joe had to explain away his very large firearm to them while trying to find his licence in the depths of his army coat.

When the ambulance arrived at the hospital, Critic was rushed into the operating theatre as fast as possible, while Paw and Brentalfloss were ushered into one of the private rooms to calm down and await the others. Around ten minutes later, Rob arrived, going out of his mind in panic, and half an hour after that the others turned up.  
They sat in the room, now made their own personal waiting-room, most of them twiddling their thumbs, a few pacing back and forth. Paw had yet to wash the blood off his hands, not willing to until he found whether this was the only thing that remained of his friend.

It was odd, he thought, that they had been through so much, injured so many times, but always cartoonishly getting over it, like when JesuOtaku kept testing out her crazy inventions out on him in the spaceship, or when Critic shot Brentalfloss in the Moulin Rouge review, but it had always been for a laugh and no one was really hurt.  
Not like this.  
They may have disputes, and the Critic was a selfish idiot sometimes, but he was THEIR selfish idiot. Anyway, the plothole had done him good and his was nicer now, more well meaning and not so much the gun toting, Bat Credit Card maniac he had been... Most of the time, anyway...  
None of them could imagine the Critic gone again... When they had thought he was dead originally none of them seemed to care but barely a few days passed before they realised how much they missed him, not that any of them would admit it of course.  
But now...

A few hours later and the Critic was released from surgery into the intensive care ward, his condition 'Serious, yet stable.' They were told. However, the sun had gone down a while ago and visiting hours were over, so all of them were forced to go home for the night.


End file.
